


Changing The Sheets

by cœurdunerebelle (notjustalittlegirl)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Break Up, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustalittlegirl/pseuds/c%C5%93urdunerebelle
Summary: "'Joly, don't cry! Oh, god, please don't cry, we're sorry, it's just...' He trailed off, and gently but firmly pulled his head up to brush the tears off his cheeks."Or, Bossuet and Musichetta break up with Joly and he goes to Combeferre's house to get away from them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Plot bunny that I needed to get out of my head. 
> 
> If you've written something like this, I promise I'm not trying to copy you. 
> 
> I don't own Les Misérables, or the characters. I'm not making money, so don't sue me, I just had to pay the library money so I'm poor!

Joly had been there first. He had known Musichetta and Bossuet before they had met each other. He had loved them before they'd loved each other. He had dated Musichetta before Bossuet had, and he had loved Bossuet before Musichetta had. He couldn't understand why this was happening. 

"Jol, I'm sorry," said Musichetta, as she placed a hand on his back and rubbed gently, as if he were a child. "We just can't do this anymore." 

Joly shook off Musichetta's hand and migrated further into the corner of the couch, burying his head into his hands to try and stop the two people he loved most in the world from seeing him cry over this. They may have seen him cry before, during his panic attacks, but this time felt different.

"Why?" He choked out in a thick voice into his hands, still trying to conceal the tears which were beginning to fall despite his best efforts. Hiding his face didn't fool Bossuet, his best friend since childhood.

"Joly, don't cry! Oh, god, please don't cry, we're sorry, it's just..." He trailed off, and gently but firmly pulled his head up to brush the tears off his cheeks. 

Joly wanted so badly to lean into Bossuet's gentle touch. It felt loving and kind, or it would have it was still for him. 

The other man looked at Musichetta, silently begging her to say it, so he didn't have to. They had a silent conversation, and eventually she nodded. 

"Sweetheart, it isn't that we don't love you. We do, really. We just, we can't help you the way you sometimes need all the time. Like, I can't drop my work three times a day because you think you've gotten cancer or something." 

That made Joly gasp. It had crossed his mind that maybe Musichetta and Bossuet felt this way, but he had always quickly pushed the thoughts from his head, telling himself that his boyfriend and girlfriend  _loved him,_ that they wanted to make him happy, and help him curb his hypochondria. Maybe it wasn't true after all. 

"Oh, Joly," cooed Musichetta, when she saw the shellshocked expression on her ex-boyfriend's face. "That sounded harsher than-"

"It's alright." Joly cut her off with another choked sob. "I... I und-derstand. It's okay, I'll leave, I want you to be happy." 

Bossuet tried to pull Joly into his arms, trying to comfort him. The other jerked away, and Bossuet momentarily looked hurt. Joly almost felt guilty, but then the reality of what was happening crashed back down over him. Musichetta and Bossuet, the two people whom he loved most in the world, whom he would die for in an instant, didn't want to be with him anymore. They only wanted each other. 

"I'll... I'll come b-back for my things s-soon." 

"Oh, Joly, you're not planning on leaving tonight, are you? It's late, just stay here tonight and find a place tomorrow!" 

He shook his head violently. "I c-can't stay h-here tonight! I can't be here!" 

Musichetta reached out a hand, about to beg him to stay the night. Bossuet stood up and placed a hand on Musichetta's arm, shaking his head. "Bye, Chetta. Bye, Bossuet. I love you both." 

The only think that Joly grabbed was his toothbrush before running from the place that he could no longer call home. 

* * *

 

It was cold outside, but Joly had no desire to go back inside to fetch his coat. He had no car, and Grantaire's place was four miles from Bossuet and Musichetta's. Doing some quick math in his head, Joly remembered that Combeferre's apartment was only three blocks away. 

He ran as fast as he could which, with his bad leg, was not very fast, toward's Combeferre's house, wanting both to get out of the cold and be in the comfort of one of his closest friends.

The run quickly deteriorated into a walk as Joly's bad leg threatened to collapse from underneath him. It seemed like an eternity before he finally found the building and buzzed Combeferre to let him in, praying that his friend was still awake and not out.

Luckily, he was awake, and Joly soon found himself standing in Combeferre's entryway, tears streaming down his cheeks as his friend wrapped an arm around him and led him to sit on the couch. 

"Jol, what happened? What's wrong?" 

The combined factors of his sobbing and the run-walk to Combeferre's house had made it near impossible for Joly to gather enough breath to talk. It took several minutes of Combeferre gently stroking his back in a steady, comforting motion before Joly was able to calm down enough to finally stutter out the words. 

"Chetta and Bossuet and I... W-we... they left m-me!" 

Saying out loud to someone else somehow made it more true, and the brokenhearted doctor collapsed back into his friend's arms as the tears started again. 

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Joly." 

Combeferre continued to pet his hair softly as he cried. Finally, his tears tapered off. Only then did Combeferre say anything. "Do you want to talk about it, Joly?" 

The smaller man shook his head, and Combeferre nodded from his position holding Joly to his chest. "Okay. Do you want to go to bed?" 

Joly nodded, and followed Combeferre to the bedroom, not wanting to be alone for a minute. 

He didn't even need to ask before Combeferre was stripping his own bed and pulling new sheets and pillow cases from the closet. "It's okay," he said. " These were just washed yesterday, so you have nothing to worry about. You can sleep in the bed, and I'll take the floor. There's not much dust, but I don't want you to worry about it." 

Normally, Joly would be upset with Combeferre treating him as if he were made of glass, but after hearing the reason why Musichetta and Bossuet left him, the simple act of Combeferre knowing without being told that he should change the sheets, and offering to take the floor so Joly wouldn't worry about dust touched him more than anything could have at that moment. 

"Ferre," he whispered, somewhat apprehensively, after the lights had been turned out "Do you think I got a cold from walking here?"

Joly could feel Combeferre shake his head in the dark. "No, Joly, I don't. But, even if you did, we'll deal with it. It'll be okay." 

The word 'we' caught Joly's attention more than Combeferre's affirmation that he probably didn't have a cold. "You won't leave me alone?" 

"Of course not! You're one of my best friends! I'm here as long as you want me to be!" 

"Thanks, Ferre. G'night." 

"Goodnight, Joly."

**Author's Note:**

> (Not so) Fun fact: My little brother has hypochondria, don't tell hypochondriacs that they're being ridiculous. I used to tell my brother that, when I was particularly tired and he was particularly worried. I feel so bad about it, learn from me! 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
